


Divining Rods

by deli (deliciousirony)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Buttertacles Attacks Take 2, Coffee Shops, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Soulmates, We Are All Jojo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/deli
Summary: The bond manifests in curious ways, and nobody knows how their particular sign will look like - Sam's and Jessica's were white doves, of all things. Dean is... not quite as lucky.





	Divining Rods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jojodacrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojodacrow/gifts).



> This is for [Jojo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojodacrow/pseuds/jojodacrow), the best mod ever. Get well soon! I hope you have a blast reading this, because I don't even know what this is. I started a wholesome soulmate coffeeshop thing, and this is what I ended up with. Aceriee said I should keep it, so keep it I did - personally, I cannot believe I actually posted this lmao ;)

When _it_  happened the first time, in his first week of the winter term, Dean did not think much of it. After all, these things… happen. On their own. They used to happen quite a lot when Dean was a horny teenager without much privacy and in a constant, desperate need to get off if somebody so much as winked at him. Being not a teenager anymore and in the possession of his own, private-space-supplying flat, these things had reduced their frequency of happening much on their own. So, in short, Dean was surprised, but well… these things happen. And for some reason they happened in the middle of the library, but at least Dean was in a secluded corner, with a desk in front of him, and enough time until his next class to let things die down. At least enough time, he figured, to be able to make it to the loo without things showing too much, and to take care of things there, should Little Dean prove uncooperative. Thankfully, things died down as fast as they had popped up, and Dean shrugged and went back to noun phrases and linguistic tree thingies that he thought did not look much like trees.

When _it_ happened the second time, a few days later, Dean noticed, but again, did not think much of it. Not too much, anyway. It did occur to him that he had never had this problem before this term though, since said hard teenage years, and Dean being, when it came down to it, a very smart boy, he of course considered the possibility of finally _getting a sign_. 

 _The bond manifests in curious ways_ , as Pater Franz had always used to say in his Sunday sermons, the ones Dean and Sam had been dragged to by their grandmother without any chance of escape safe a strategic retreat into their inner happy place. Pater Franz’ adage on bonds had only stuck thanks to its multifold, hypnotic repetition throughout the years. So while it was now different things that were happening, it was still things happening and since that’s what these things do, it could not, either way, be helped much, short of maybe not having or getting rid of the bond-mate. Which usually people would very much rather not do, because, well, bond-mate, which takes things back to happening without much that can be done about it. And _it_ happening during Dean's second year at college was rather normal, all things considered, even if it Dean’s second year of college had him a bit older than his classmates.

When things kept happening, Dean could no longer ignore the very real possibility that his bond sign might be getting raging if, sadly, random erections. It was something Dean had not expected, but which Sam, should he ever somehow find out, would probably chalk up to dramatic irony. Dean was prepared to go to considerable lengths to keep Sam from ever finding out. It was the randomness of the unmotivated boners that really got to him though. Usually people tried to find any sort of regularity of whatever was happening, like being told 'cold' or 'warm' in a game of hide and seek, but in Dean’s case things just kept… popping up. In Sam’s case, doves had shown up whenever he had been close to Jessica; the closer they were, the more doves appeared. They had finally managed to find each other on Valentine’s Day in the middle of the park - and Dean would maintain to his death that they had both planned it, showing off that they were soulmates more than the display of hundreds of white doves erupting from behind the giant heart made of red roses. There had even been a string quartet. That entire thing was another reason that Dean would never ever let Sam know what his soul-bond sign appeared to be. His only consolation was that there was somebody somewhere with the exact same problem. Unless they were a woman, in which case Dean thought that would be pretty unfair in terms of levels of embarrassment.

Since the awkward unmotivated boners had started this term, Dean figured it had to be somebody in one of his classes, or at least somebody on Campus, which did not really reduce the number of possibles all that much. It didn’t always happen in the same course, nor did it always happen at the library, nor at his favourite coffee shop. Researching the people who worked at the library had not yielded any results, neither had checking the coffee shop staff. Without any way to resolve the issue, Dean had taken to wearing obscuring clothes and had developed a habit of carrying his backpack in front of him.

About two months in, the subject of many a teenage nightmare found Dean standing in the middle of his favourite coffee shop, venti triple fudge triple espresso hot chocolate in one hand, a blueberry muffin in the other, and one of the most painful hard-ons Dean had ever experienced in the middle. Dean’s dignity was a semi-lost cause on the best of days, but so far it had extended to being more or less able to hide a very awkward and very misplaced boner in full view of the public. Usually Dean had at least a desk to hide behind. The fact that the coffeeshop was on campus and that it was close to closing time on Thanksgiving at least reduced the audience drastically. There was an uncomfortable looking guy at one of the tables - no wonder with somebody getting hard in the middle of the coffee shop, Dean figured - and Dean simply dumped his purchases on the guy’s table, squeaked out a request to please look after his stuff, and then high-tailed it to the washroom. Securely ensconced in one of the stalls, he scrambled to get his trousers open to at least relieve some of the pressure. Many, increasingly desperate intents at dealing with the throbbing situation between his legs had removed both all hope of self-gratification and any doubt that this was indeed something that would have to be dealt with with the help of the person causing it. Dean could only… wait things out. It seemed that things returned to normal once the other person had removed themselves from Dean’s vicinity, and right now, Dean could only hope that they would do so quickly. 

While Dean waited, he discovered, to his considerable consternation, that the magic soul-bond boner started twitching, which soon graduated to… moving. When Dean turned to the right, his dick… twitched to point to the left. When Dean turned around, his dick slapped against his abdomen like a wonky compass needle. Slowly turning in a circle, Dean was horrified to find that the tip always kept pointing into the same direction. Very much like a compass needle. The inevitable conclusion appeared to be that his dick was intending to quite literally lead him to his soulmate. The practicalities of the idea, however, did not bear thinking about. What the hell was whoever was in charge of soul-bond signs thinking? What was he supposed to do? Run around campus stark naked, with a boner whipping to the left and right like one half of a divining rod? Pack Little Dean up in one of those ridiculous boxes that looked like a gift and that attached to the belt, and then keep peeking in through a gap between the top and the box? At least everything would be nicely done up for when he met the other person. Dean dissolved in hysterical giggles and tried to imagine how that situation would go. 

When Dean had gone through all possible scenarios of how the hell he would find his bond-mate like that, he realised that his erection had not flagged at all. It was still going strong. Things had never been this persistent so far, and Dean prayed to all things holy that this was not how things would stay until the bond had been realised. 

Suddenly, the door banged open, somebody hurried in, skidded past Dean’s cubicle and into the one to his right. Dean’s dick veered to the right as if somebody had placed a magnet next to the compass needle.

Dean froze. Could it be…? Surely… Surely it wouldn’t be as easy as this? It certainly explained why things had not subsided before; the other person… man must have been sitting somewhere in the coffee shop, equally desperate for things to resolve themselves. Which they didn’t because they had stayed in each other’s vicinity. It wasn’t a big coffee shop. But how the hell was he supposed to…?

There was a groan. A rather desperate groan. Dean could understand completely, because in the few seconds the other man had come even closer, Dean’s dick had become impossibly harder. And for the first time, there was the slimmest chance that he might actually be able to get off this time around, because no sooner had some very obvious sounds started drifting over from the other stall, than Dean had started leaking pre-come. Copiously. 

Dean groaned. The sounds next door stopped, replaced by ominous silence and hard breathing.

“Um,” the somebody in the other cubicle said, in a deep, raspy voice, and another drop of pre-come appeared on Dean’s dick.

“H-hey,” Dean answered and immediately bit himself on the tongue. _Way to start a conversation with your soulmate_ , _Winchester_. “Are you often on the campus, by any chance, or do you go to the library a lot?"

"P-Pardon?"

Another groan. Dean bit back a moan and only succeeded partially.

"Do you work or study... hng... at the university," Dean somehow managed to get out while almost bending over at how the other man's voice seemed to physically caress him. And so far he had only gotten a single word out of the stranger. Dean shuddered to think what an entire sentence might do to him, let alone any risqué suggestions.

"Yes... yes, I started m-my PhD this term, I teach at the English lit depa-ahhh-artment," came the reply. "Y-you? Please tell me you've been taking classes there this term."

"Yep. Undergrad. English minor. You wouldn’t happen to have any idea what I’m talking about if I mention, um, soul-bonds and compass needles in the same sentence, would you?”

The other man cleared his throat. 

“If you’re referring to unruly appendages and a certain… directional awareness of that they definitely should not possess, then I might... unhhh... have an idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh thank God,” Dean exclaimed on a rushed exhale of pure relief. “Um… how do you want to…?” 

Dean blushed furiously, much harder than he’d ever admit, because he had no idea how to finish that question.

“How about I come over to you, and then I come all over you, and then we can finish introductions,” the mystery voice suggested.

Oh yes. Dean could work with that. Dean could _definitely_ work with that. There was some suffering in the other cubicle. Dean leaned back against the wall. There was no way he’d ever be able to express how relieved he felt. He unlocked his door.

“Best idea ever. But that’s not the story we’re telling the grand-kids. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“My name is Castiel,” came the slightly muffled answer.

The door opened and revealed the man with whom he had left his coffee. Dean burst out laughing. The other man grinned when he recognised him in turn. 

“Hello, Dean.”


End file.
